Bubblegum Biohazard
by DrGoodchilde
Summary: In this latest update, James Marcus under the alias of Umbrella stock identity Luis Sera, travels by Ferry to look for boy named Albert Jake Muller, a potential Wesker Project candidate. However, Russian operative Sergei Vladimir is hot on the trail, too seeking to kidnap the child for the glory of the Soviet Union. Try to keep up.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note:** This is a little tale (and possibly a prologue, it depends on my mood…) about Albert Wesker and William Birkin's journey through their formative years and of their self-discovery. To that end, Wesker in particular is going to come across as _extremely_ out of character at first but I ask you to bear with it: It's kind of the whole point of the story to be honest.

Hope you enjoy this tale about two perpetually lab coat wearing young lunatics.

* * *

/_**Bubblegum Biohazard**_\

* * *

Billy was mere moments away from losing his mind and snapping his roommates' neck like a chicken bone when the irritating, lanky blonde madman finally stopped jumping to and fro between their beds by crossing his legs mid-air, landing on his own bed with a thump.

"I've been thinking a lot about Smoke and Mirrors lately, Bill." He said to the back of his best friends' head who was studying profusely in preparation for the next quarterly exam. Billy needed to earn enough Academic Excellence Credits required to purchase a gift for his other friend Annette for Valentine's Day. Not that he was dating her or anything. That would be in poor taste in light of recent events. He just needed to make her feel special.

Annette really deserved to feel special. Well, that's what he Bert thought, anyway.

"Is that so?" Said Billy, deciding to leave his train of thought before it careened off the tracks and killed him. Better to get back to the matter at hand... "Because I've been thinking about taking off those specs of yours and jamming their arms into your eyeballs."

Bert laughed. "They're called 'Temples'." He corrected – not out of poor manners but out of a desire to educate - before continuing. "After Annette dumped me because I don't take anything seriously I was kinda realizing that no one really takes _any_ of my work seriously and I figured out it's because I'm always acting like a moron."

Billy wounded internally from the heart wrenching memory Bert had just so flippantly brought up.

_"But why don't you want to marry me Annette?" Bert pleaded, tears rolling down his face from behind circular lenses from pained blue eyes usually filled with such touching mirth. "We love each other! I __**know**__ you love me as much as I love you. We have so much fun together and we're always helping each other!" I don't understand why you don't want us to be together!"_

_"Don't you get it Bert?" She told him apologetically. "You're always acting out, acting like such a joke and playing pranks that mess up everybody else's lives. Everyone either treats you like you're a joke or hates you for dragging them into your chaos. You may be comfortable with everyone either hating you or treating you like a joke for the rest of your life but I'm not, Albert!" She sighed. Annette genuinely didn't want to hurt dear little Albert and tear out his heart like this but he had to be told. "But if I marry you I'll become a part of you, a part of all that and I'm so, so sorry but I just..." She raked her fingers through hair that shimmered in the light of the setting sun like strands of golden honey. She smelt like honey, too. Bert liked that about her._

_He liked a lot about her._

_"I'm just not strong enough a woman to be by your side like that... I'm sorry."_

_Bert's arms fell to either side. He couldn't argue with what she was saying no matter how hard he tried. He was defeated._

William felt so deeply sorry for dear hearted little Albert at the time this tragedy had occured but his best friend hadn't mourned his loss for more than a few days, though he had mourned it hard, so why should he? Infact he hadn't just gotten over the grief of ending his relationship with Netty, he was back to his usual irritating self in no time at all.

"So you think a change in image will fix everything?" said Bill Birkin, compelled to turn around through use of his swivel-chair and face his friend who was speaking utter madness, as usual.

Things really _were_ back to normal in chateau Birkin/Wesker…

"Couldn't hurt." He replied. "The only difference between a Dumbass and a Badass is a new haircut and a pair of stylish specs!"

"_You're_ a Dumbass!" Billy interjected.

"Exactly!" Bert countered, taking off his glasses and looking at them thoughtfully. "But if I slicked back my crappy hair, maybe got these tinted so they look like shades and used my spare time to beef up a bit instead of piss about like I usually do, then I'd be an evil genius!"

"Evil geniuses don't use phrases like 'piss about'." Replied Billy, closing his eyes as if that act could blind himself to the sheer absurdity of it all.

"That's another thing!" Bert sprung up and approached the Skeletal Anatomy model in the corner of the room. A model that was designed (by Mother Nature if you follow my meaning, Dear Reader) to be in scale with the human male form. "Words! Names! Labels are important! They add power! For example, what's this?" He asked, pointing to the centre of the skeletons chest.

"Specifically that's the Manubrium." Answered Bill.

"It's also called the Sternum or Breastbone." Said Bert, turning to look at him with an annoyingly smug grin. "So which is it, Billy?"

"Err, what?" Bill was confused.

"Is it the Manubrium, the Sternum or the Breastbone?" He asked.

Billy furrowed his brows and folded his arms. "It's all of those things."

"Why?" He smiled innocently at him.

"Well... it just... is?"

"That's Bullshit!" laughed Bert. "_'It is because it is'_? That's Bullshit logic right there!" He became serious and approached Bill, hard blue eyes boring into his. "'It is' because we _say_ 'it is', because we invented that name and gave it to that bone and so that's what it _becomes_." He marched back to the model and faced it with a combative stance. "Right, now watch this:" He raised up his right leg and struck it."Now what was that?"

"You kicked it."

"That was called the 'Jaguar Kick'."

"But you just basically kicked it!"

"It can be two things." He then proceeded to strike the skeleton with his right fist. "Panther Fang!"

"That's just a fancy way of saying 'punching a guy in the face'!"

"Mustang Kick!" He kicked the anatomy model and nearly lost his balance, wobbling comically on one skinny leg.

"That's exactly the same as the Jaguar Kick only now you're doing it with your right leg!"

Bert whirled around triumphantly and interjected.""Ah but you _are_ calling it the 'Jaguar Kick' now?"

Bill was about to cut in, index finger raised and ready to go but found he couldn't argue with Bert's logic. "You're completely insane... but you're also not wrong..." He lowered his indignant digit feeling confusion and admiration for his roommate in equal measures.

"I can be two things!"

He hated it when Albert Wesker was crazily correct but he almost always was and that's why everyone else at the Umbrella Management Training Facility despised and tortured him.

…That and being naturally brilliant at everything he ever tried without seeming to put in even the slightest amount of effort….

...However it was why William Birkin, the boy currently watching Albert Wesker wrestle a 'donated to medical science' skeleton to the ground and his other best friend Annette loved him so much. He suspected that was even the case in regards to Director Marcus, their superior and mentor, despite his persona as the Management Training Facilities Tyrant King. Bert himself however even when so far as to consider the man his mortal enemy. (Incidentally, ominous quotation marks much on how the company came to acquire that skeleton, eh Dear Reader?)

"I want you to start calling me Wesker in public from now on, not Bert. It sounds better." He grinned mischievously. "But in private like this you can call me whatever you want." He winked. "Even 'Darling'."

Bill laughed out loud. "Fine. But you have to call me Birkin."

* * *

"Stop dressing like your popular now, Foureyes! We all know who you really are!" The gobby young girl tried to knock shoulders with Bert to send him reeling but instead it was she who bounced off. Bert had anticipated this harsh reaction to his sudden change in image by his main tormentor and her gang of painted minions. His passage through the busy corridors on route to his lessons was inevitably going to be eventful…

She angrily spun around to face the back of him and his cohort Billy Birkin in response to his blatant act of disrespect.

"Hey, who the fuck you do think you are you test-tube freak?!" The fact that Bert was one of the first children in the world to be conceived through In vitro fertilisation, or IVF, was common knowledge amongst the youth of the Umbrella Management Training Facility and a source of constant ridicule for him. "You turn around and you fucking face me right the fuck now!"

Bert smiled and obeyed.

Bill caught his arm. "Are you sure you should go ahead with this plan?" He whispered. "She _is_ still a female after all."

"That's irrelevant." Bert countered. "Although that fact may even serve to enhance my image after all is said and done." He stopped talking to his loyal companion and spoke to the Bully before him, dramatically elongating his words to increase their intimidating effect.

There was power in it.

"It's always _quite _a shame when such _ugly_ words are spat out from an otherwise _pretty _mouth." He stood tall and proud, a complete contradiction to the meek and mild mannerisms he had adopted when dealing with anyone other than Birkin and Annette in his previous incarnation. "It really manages to demean her beautiful image" He tiled his head ever so slightly so his eyes could be seen over his new glasses. "…and reveals the hideousness of who she truly is."

The Bully was flabbergasted by his brutal words of wisdom. That lasted only briefly however as her fear and confusion entwined together to form its pitiable bastard child; Hatred.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, Foureyes?!" She repeated, her forceful voice faltering ever so slightly this time.

He chuckled. "You seem quite confused as to who I am,_ little girl_." Bert removed his tinted prescription spectacles now indistinguishable from shades to all who didn't know their secret.

…. He purchased them with the Academic Excellence Credits he had reimbursed from turning in his Engagement ring…

"And as for these, they are not an additional set of eyes, _sweetheart_. I have two eyes, despite my nature as a 'Test-tube Freak'. They are called 'Glasses' and they allow me to see things so much more clearly than without..." Bert suddenly tensed and Bill knew it was all about to kick off and to get the hell out of the way, quickly he ducking behind one of the antique chest of draws that decorated the corridor. He didn't lack the courage to assist Albert but he _did_ lack the pain threshold. "Here…_Take a closer look_."

Albert threw his specs at the aggressor. She caught them out of pure instinct rather than intentionally but that was precisely the move he was seeking to exploit. Immediately following his glasses in a sprint, he attacked the girl with a right-hook that continued to a spin into an elbow in her guts with his left whilst snatching the glasses back as the right hand concluded its journey across her face. She flew back and down to the ground with a shrill scream that drove her little minions scurrying away in all directions like startled cockroaches, minions that had been sneering and barking at Albert and William like a pack of baying Hyenas mere moments ago.

He was on top of her. "You want to know who I think I am?!" He roared, his fists slamming into her face punctuating each cruel word. There may have been pleas for him to stop in amidst her screams but with his blows snapping her head two and fro, bloodying and bruising her once beautiful appearance more and more, it made it difficult for them to be heard above the din. Finally he grabbed her by the jaw, brought what had been her face to his and bellowed down at her, _into_ her;

_**"I. am. Wesker!"**_

* * *

"I don't know what's gotten into you, Bert..." Said Director Marcus, drumming his fingers and bouncing his knee in great agitation as he sat at his desk. Marcus never sat at his desk; he always preferred to pace with his arms folded behind his back. It meant this was a very serious situation indeed.

For his part Wesker stood stock still and emotionless. He didn't _feel_ emotionless, not at all. He didn't know _what_ he was feeling in his heart of hearts to be exact, there was just so much going on in there.

There was Fear; had he crossed a line and was going to get expelled or arrested or even killed? There was Hate; The Bitch had been abusing him the moment he turned up at the Facility, all that had happened was simply cause and effect. Guilt and her unlucky sister Shame were in the crowd; The Bully was _still_ a girl, a girl in a typically male dominated environment, a girl who probably did the things she did because she was afraid of what others thought about her and didn't want to look weak and helpless in front of them all. There was Pride; what he had done to that girl felt good and had made him feel, made him _be_ powerful; now the other students would shun him out of fear rather than revulsion and he chose to take that as a sign of respect.

...And then there was Panic and Sorrow; what if what he had done was going to hurt Bill and Netty? What if they would be punished instead of him, or he would be moved to- dear God in Heaven- a regular school? He loved them both so much... He was certain he'd lose his mind if he didn't have his best friend Billy Birkin by his side keeping him in check and helping him take on the world and also kind, dear hearted Netty with her ability to see the love and Humanity in even the most monstrous looking creature.

Wesker was paralyzed by turmoil just as much as he was through the strength of his will.

"My name is Wesker." He wrest control of himself from the clutches of emotion and corrected the Director, his words low, drawn out and far more confident than he was feeling.

Marcus stopped drumming his fingers and looked at him questioningly. "Since when?"

"Since I beat that Bully to a bloodied pulp in front of everyone."

And that was when something happened that even Albert Wesker, with his mind like a perfectly ordered web of facts and wisdom, hadn't prepared for: Director Marcus started to laugh. Loudly and heartily.

"I knew you'd come around eventually my boy!" He said merrily and rounded his desk with an outstretched hand that Albert took up and shook without really know what or why he was doing that.

His natural reaction would have been to laugh nervously back and ask 'what the fuck' but instead he managed to reword it into: "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Spencer was just like you when he was a lad, well at least when it comes to his opinion on appearances." He explained with mirth, such a different emotion from his usual cold and stoic mannerisms. "He was the first of us to realise the importance of Smoke and Mirrors when dealing with Humans but the last of us to embrace it."

"Us?"

Director Marcus grinned widely. "Our little gang of friends. Me, Ozzy and Ed all attended the same prestigious boarding school back in England and we were all inseparably close." Suddenly he threw back his head and laughed. "Of course that was because no other bugger would have us!"

Wesker's eyelashes fluttered beneath his pseudo-shades out of sheer amazement at what was going on. The training facilities undisputed Tyrant King and Wesker's personal Nemesis was acting just so uncharacteristically… Human.

"Ozzy - that is, Mister Spencer – He'd say 'why won't they take my work and my finding seriously just because I refuse to pander to their pomp and ceremony!?'" Marcus was waving hands about in a mock majestic way to illustrate his point, mimicking the passionate argument of his old friend. "'I won't let that pack of stuffy old sycophants undermine everything I've ever strived to achieve! I won't play their stupid little games! He'd rant on and on forever if I'd let him.'" Marcuse's eyes were lowered and seemed to twinkle as he remembered how rebellious Oswald Spencer was in his youth. "I think that's why he decided to found Umbrella in the end. He was so sick of being denied entry into the 'big boys club' because of his youth and because his and Edwards's lineage in Nobility meant their great achievements and high praise for their abilities was often disregarded as pandering on the part of the professors and management." Marcus shook his head with a chuckle. "'If you won't let us play with you and all your toys in your pillow fort, I guess we'll have to go and build ourselves our own treehouse with bigger and better toys and _you're_ not allowed to play with _us_.' Yes, that was Mr Spencer's attitude alright..."

Suddenly he because serious.

"Bert," Wesker jaw tightened and he was about to correct him when his Mentor and … friend did it for him. "I'm sorry. I mean _Wesker_. If you want to be a part of Humanity, you need to learn how to play their games. They all too often differ to the argument that jingles the shiniest keys in front of them rather than the argument that provides a better future for us all. It isn't _right_; I _know_ that Wesker but it's just how they are, so long as they _remain Human_." Marcus stood tall now, regaining his imposing command, chin high, almost looking down his nose at Wesker and arms folded behind his back. "Suffering…. It's an orobourous that Humanity is chained to…" Marcus became misty-eyed for a moment but only a moment as he chose to confide in Wesker. "…A kind and brilliant woman whom myself and all my friends loved deeply used to say that. We hate because we are afraid and are too cowardly to learn about or except that which we fear and so we hate it for making us feel this weak and helpless. Hate makes us lash out and spread that hate like a virus into the hearts of others. We hate others –though innocent in thought and deed – who are just different from us in appearance and lifestyle and choose to wrong to them to punish them. They in turn choose to hate us back and torture innocent members of our order believing them to be villains and in turn make _them_ think that their tormentors are all as wicked as them…" Marcus grinned a wickedly evil grin, though there was a look of disgust in his eyes that Albert couldn't ignore. "And so the sickness spreads…." Marcus's voice became low, slow and deliberate.

"The only way Humanity will progress as a species and break the orobourus of misery and suffering is if we stop dividing ourselves up into 'them and us' groups and accept the truth. That truth, Albert Wesker, is that all Humanity falls under the same Umbrella." He sighed deeply when he had finished his speech, almost as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders through confession. His eyes snapped back to Wesker's, burning with their old distain, a look Wesker was fast learning was all…

… All just Smoke and Mirrors…

"Now get the hell out of my office and behave your goddamn self, you violent, selfish, almost certain sociopath." Marcus then proceeded to completely ignore Wesker and return to his desk and to his paperwork.

Wesker simply smiled, bowed his head a little and left. That was first time ever he had exited the Directors office without making a scene out of it or trying to have the last word.

Having the last word was unimportant. It was having the _best_ word… _that_ was the real trick.

* * *

As his young charge left his office in an uncharacteristically well behaved manor, James felt his heart swell with pride. Albert Wesker was one of the most stubborn and uncompromising individuals he'd ever known and he had feared that that inability to differ to others would cause that boy never to mature and excel in life.

He had thankfully been wrong.

Don't misunderstand the Directors intent, Dear Reader. Marcus wished very much that his pupil never lost his relentlessness and will to succeed; he had simply wished the boy would learn to temper those impulses with a little self-control once in a while.

And now it would appear that little 'Bertie Wesker', that rough diamond he had stumbled across out of a mixture of coincidence and curiosity, had finally learnt the trick of Smoke and Mirrors that he would need to lead – and by definition – bend others to his will. It made him so proud but also a little sad….

James Marcus, for the first time since her funeral, allowed his mind wander back through the years to the memory of the brilliant young woman long gone from this world. A woman that he, Ozwald and Edward had loved dearly.

Long shimmering blonde hair and amber eyes filled with both strength and kindness, Jillian Wesker had been perfect to them in every way. 'All I want more than anything else in the world is to make everyone else happy' she would say when asked why she did the work she did. 'but everyone seems to want nobody but themselves to be happy…. And that makes me sad...'

They didn't want Jillian to ever have to be sad for even one moment longer than was absolutely necessary.

To this end, their gang had believed in and had followed her not unquestioningly exactly but in the firmest confidence that she would figure out all the answers in the end and do what's best for everyone. That's why they loved her. When the matter came to _her_ love – her romantic love at least - she had chosen Edward Ashford, Ozwalds best friend and heir to the prestigious Ashford dynasty and went on to bare him twins. Twins that may or may not have biologically been hers if you understand my meaning, Dear Reader. I don't honestly know myself; the bodies of the Ashford twins were never recovered after the conclusion of Rockfort Island incident. Because of this, D.N.A tests couldn't be performed that would confirm or deny if those children were indeed Weskers' or the result of Project Veronica.

Despite her choosing to pursue a relationship with Edward, they all still loved Jillian Wesker and cared for her right up until the bitter end of her life. After all, they all wanted her to be happy.

When she was happy, Jillian Wesker was like the light of the morning sun spilling into every corner of the world and spreading warmth and love wherever she went. It was in that way that Bert Wesker –the boy Marcus had rescued from a miserable, downtrodden childhood and let him adopt his beloveds name as his own in order to overcome the trauma of his past - had reminded him of her.

They differed utterly, on the other hand, in how they responded to negative attention and situations. _She_ often reacted with sorrow and self-loathing. _He_ almost always retorted with hatred and torture.

However, even the ways in which Albert Wesker expressed his affection and friendship made him very dangerous to know…His idea of 'spreading the love' amongst his associates and the company that raised him usually involved… pranks. Pranks that were always incredibly clever in design but poorly judged in intent and consequences that would usually leave their victims emotionally scarred for life.

Marcus didn't believe anyone involved would get over the horror of 'mischievously Bertie Weskers' latest little joke.

The Umbrella Pharmaceutical Consortium had been hosting a formal function for Raccoon City's elite as well as high ranking officials from The Company in order to promote better co-operation between the megacorp and the local law, legal and leadership institutions. …One grand ballroom filled with the best, brightest and most powerful men and women the two establishments had to offer…

...The urge to create chaos must have been so utterly intense for Bert Wesker that it must have caused him genuine physical pain not to act upon it, despite pleadings for reason and good judgement from his loyal friend Birkin.

His plan had entailed a re-plumbing of the Umbrella Waste Management and Disposal Facilities pipelines so that instead of filling with water, the reservoir of the sprinkler system for the grand and bustling ballroom had filled with a certain _other_ liquid…. This liquid was comprised of unclaimed cadavers of vagrants and discarded limbs and organs from either botched surgeries or lifesaving operations all treated with an advanced chemical decomposition process creating a meaty, gory, utterly unbelievably foul smelling ichor.

Then it had simply been a matter of lighting a match….

Albert had thought the whole thing hysterical. Marcus had observed Bert on his secret cameras with no small amount of disgust, rolling around on the dirty carpet of his shared dorm room in tears with laughter. Birkin had been quietly watching his friend get it all out of his system from his position at his work station, chair turned to face the centre of the room before he tried to even talk to the boy.

When Bill Birkin had calmly and quietly explained to him that it was an extremely emotionally traumatic event to be unexpectedly and so completely saturated in what had essentially been someone's loved ones, Bert's demeanour changed instantly and entirely.

Albert had been in tears in James Marcus's office pleading with him for punishment, that he had no idea what he had done would so seriously disturb and hurt so many blameless people. He had begged Marcus to order him to personally apologise to each and every one of the hundreds of individuals he'd horrified.

James knocked _that_ idea on the head right away. Many of the people subjected to his evil prank were powerful and pissed off enough to take a rather terrible revenge against Wesker, personally or with the aid of 'professional avengers' as the case may be. He'd told Wesker that the safest thing he could really do right now was go back to his dorm with William and reflect on what he had done and for god's sake, don't tell anyone he was responsible for that nightmare. He'd complied, _barely_. Watching him over the cameras sob pathetically for hours in a ball of tangled bed sheets had been difficult for him but Marcus had to make sure he didn't do anything stupid. Birkin _had_ been there with him reading a book in his bed next Berts, (a book that the young man hadn't noticed was upside down, fancy that?) but he was very good at giving Birkin the slip if he really wanted to. Marcus had to keep an eye on Wesker for _all_ their sakes.

Yes, Albert Wesker had finally started to mature, or at the very least imitate maturity which was just as good, Marcus supposed. Bert was always gallivanting off campus dragging Bill along for the ride despite all the countermeasures implemented to prevent that exact thing from happening. The future leaders of Umbrella had to be protected from being soiled by the wickedness and selfishness of the people in outside world. The Facility was in the middle of the woods at the base of a mountain range for a good reason after all and dragging Bill out into his crazy world over and over, however well-meaning he always was, was a selfish and reckless act. Marcus had given up on punishing Wesker who never really bought anything with the Credits he was awarded so didn't really care when he had them deducted for bad behaviour and instead decided to punish the whole class. _That_ had made Bert take note…Amongst others…

He'd really been quite a source of constant stress for Director Marcus, even going so far as to have a detrimental effect on his physical health. But now, well… maybe Albert Wesker and William Birkin wouldn't be the death of him after all.

* * *

**Authors Note:** BOOM. Foreboding. If there's one gimmick in writing that I love more than anything else in the world, its bitter irony.

Read and Review! Even if you submit just a smiley face or a frowny face to show if you liked it or not, the acknowledgement would be very much appreciated!

I'm in two minds as to whether this should be a stand-alone or a prologue to a chronicle of Weskers life or not (because it's not as if that's ever been done before, amirite) but if that's the case, I had an idea for a twist ending that'll blow your mind.

_**Some points I want to clear up so you don't have to embarrass yourselves in the comments.**_ I know IVF wasn't invented at the time Wesker was conceived but I figured the Resident Evil universe would have developed that technology significantly sooner than our world. They have spray cans that can bring you back from the brink of death and weeds that can cure almost any organic poison regardless of its composition, after all.

Wesker calls that girl 'sweetheart' rather than 'dearheart' because dearheart is a term of endearment to him but sweetheart is a derogatory term, which is what he was going for.

You might be wondering why I typed 'Oroborus' instead of 'Uroburous', well I figured the reason it begins with the letter 'U' in Resident Evil 5 is because of Umbrella and its roll in regards to raising Wesker and Wesker has kinda realised that he can't escape Umbrella as it was made specifically to create him and he can no more escape Umbrella than he escape himself. Urobourous was his way of dealing with that.

Again, even a smiley face submitted will serve as validation for me. Thank you in advance.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 1: The Ferry Ride

_** Bubblegum Biohazard** _

/_Chapter1 Part 1: The Ferry Ride to Dover_\

_There's a guy in the place who's got a bittersweet face  
And he goes by the name of __**Ebeneezer Goode**__  
His friends call him 'Ezeer and he is the main geezer  
And he'll vibe up the place like no other man could  
He's refined, sublime, he makes you feel fine  
Though very much maligned and misunderstood  
But if you know 'Ezeer he's a real crowd pleaser  
He's ever so good - he's __**Ebeneezer Goode**__  
You can see that he's mischievous, mysterious and devious  
As he circulates amongst the people in the place  
But once you know he's fun, and something of a genius  
He gives a grin that goes around from face to face to face  
Backwards and then forwards, forwards and then backwards  
'Eezer is the geezer who loves to muscle in  
That's about the time the crowd all shout the name of 'Eezer  
As he's kotcheled in the corner, laughing by the bass bin_

_-__**Obligatory pretentious quote at the start of a fanfiction. Also known as the first verse of 'Ebeneezer Goode' by 'The Shamen'**__ (Incidentally I recommend you get all your friends and family to listen to this irritating and catchy song, Dear Reader. I'm sure they'll thank you for it…) incidentally this is a reference to Albert Wesker himself, in case you missed that._

"This doesn't make any sense and it's utterly disgusting…" James Marcus felt compelled to say what he thought of this matter out loud.

He shook his head, knee bouncing in irritation as he went over the kids exemplary test scores. Test scores that told him that this kid should have been brought ahead a grade or two (or 'year group' as they're called in the country he was preparing to visit) years ago. Instead the young man, named Albert Jake Muller he read, had been held back a Year. _Twice_. Bad behaviour and non-attendance was cited as the reason.

Was it _really any wonder_ he was skipping school? He was a 12 year old boy in Year 6 surrounded by 10 year olds that undoubtedly bullied him for his unfortunate situation and was being forced to learn over and over the same useless junk he showed signs of mastering by age 3.

_At the latest_.

I mean _really_. How many times did this poor boy need to learn that woodlice preferred to live in damp, decomposing fallen leaves and wood of the forest floor? He'd even been marked down for using the word 'decomposing', apparently a far too intelligent word for him to be using at that level and thus a _clear indicator_ that he had had an adult do the project for him.

Additionally to the test papers that were scattered across the café table he was sitting at were scattered amongst them curious little sketches. Sketches of great beasts with jet black claws, exposed, mighty muscles and robust, powerful sinews; the child's drawings when asked to express himself creatively.

…There was only a small handful of these images when compared to the files of other possible candidates for Project Wesker Marcus had been studying. The rest, he had read in the boys form tutors notes, had been removed from his file and destroyed. They were much too disturbing a subject matter for a sweet little boy like him to be allowed to draw…

Although all the higher-ups in the organisation were required to be intimately acquainted with Virology and Biochemistry, Doctor James Marcus was The Umbrella Pharmaceutical Consortiums top _paediatrician and child psychologist but in all his years of working on Project W, screening kids from across the world (well, with a few exceptions on the other side of the Iron Curtain you understand, Dear Reader) he had never seen such blatant and repeated attempts to clip the wings of a brilliant young mind trying so desperately hard to soar. _

Doctor James Marcus had only one question for Albert Muller.

_Why_.

It was for the sake of this question that Marcus had dropped everything he had been working on in the Arklay mountains (the construction of the Management Training Facility could go ahead without his constant inspection) and booked a private jet to the Paris Facility. From there he travelled by commercial train to Calais and took a Ferry to Dover in the south east of England, avoiding Umbrella executive privileges wherever he could.

You may be wondering, Dear Reader, why Doctor Marcus didn't just take the jet straight to London if England had been his goal all along. The answer is simple; The Russians were watching.

When Umbrella and thus Project W were first set up, the Cold War had been raging its silent way across the globe for almost 20 years. The Iron Curtain was well and truly in effect and establishing any kind of mole in the Soviet Union was an extremely dangerous and risky business.

They had sent one in, anyway; Umbrella's top spy Miranda Miriam. Long flowing white hair and stunning blue eyes, she was a true master of the deadly twin arts of sex and seduction and had a dangerously sharp guile and intelligence. She was typically no killer; she preferred to solve problems the smart way, not through violence but she could defend herself when needed if a target got a little bit too ahead of himself in regards of the game of sex.

Her mission was to establish contact with the Kremlin and propose an exchange of information and resources such as test subjects between Umbrella (independently of any American interference, of course) and the Soviets in regards to the most part for Project W.

However, once she left for The Union, nothing was heard from her for 12 years.

Then just a day ago, Doctor Marcus had received something rather odd in the mail. A single postcard featuring a picture of a hammer and sickle with the letters CCCP printed in red in one corner, a postcard with no postmarks or addresses written either to or from the two parties involved.

All that was written on the back was;

Albert Jake Muller, Southend-on-Sea, Essex, England. Hurry, they're on their way, too.

It was in Agent Miriam's handwriting.

Officially, James Marcus was visiting the Paris Facility to garner support for his little project in the Arklay Mountains (the establishment of the Management Training Facility, no less) just outside Raccoon City, but that was just smoke and mirrors for the benefit of the Ruskies. In actual fact, James had arrange for all his travel to be done through civilian networks once he landed in the French capital, as well as all the academic records of this 'Albert Muller' to be sent to his cabin aboard the ferry he had booked for the final leg of the journey into England.

Operating under one of Umbrella's pseudonyms, he would now be identified as 'Doctor Luis Sera', in this instance a child psychologist who specialised in the study and rehabilitation of troubled young boys whom had taken a particular interest in the case of Albert Muller.

Marcus gathered up the papers intending to place them back in his briefcase but before he did that he rifled through them looking for any kind of mention of his parents or home life. There was none.

That was usually a bad sign…

Could home factors be playing a role in this gifted child's unusually restrictive placement in life? He would have to investigate. In the mean-time, Marcus suddenly felt very much watched right now for some reason and that retreating to his cabin would best be in order.

* * *

Agent Sergei Vladimir watched the long haired man at the café table become physically agitated and then gather up his documents before stashing them in his briefcase and departing for what he presumed to be respite in his quarters. His quarry hadn't noticed the young, white haired mister Vladimir regarding him from a booth seat some ways behind him but it appeared the human body still retained some of its survival instincts from when they were but prey animals.

…The instinct of sensing when you were being watched by a predator, for example.

Sergei smirked at his own delightful circumstances as he brought his cup of hot chocolate to his lips. His mother's intelligence had been correct, as it always was and his father had sent him on this, his very first solo mission in order to follow up on said information.

His mother, Miranda Miriam, had been an Umbrella spy whom was purposefully sent into the Soviet Union in order to steal the bright and brilliant young boys and girls the regime had created and bring them to Capitalist lands for re-education. With that intent she had tenaciously perused and seduced his father Yevgeny Vladimir– the head of the KGB - in order to better manipulate him to her will. The end result of that dalliance had been Sergei Vladimir himself.

After marrying his father right in the delivery room to keep her new-born son in legitimate standings, Miri-Miri (as only _Sergei_ was allowed to call her and even then only under special circumstances) had begun to work with his father in order to track down these gifted children that Umbrella was seeking and harvest them for the glory of the USSR instead.

The mission had been 12 years in the making but now all their hard work was finally going to pay off. Miri-Miri informed them that an Umbrella spy had discovered the whereabouts of a potential subject the Pharmaceutical giant would be interested in acquiring. The Agent had already sent word to their superiors of the name and location of the child but if they hurried, they might be able to intercept the pick-up.

And so 12 year old Sergei Vladimir was here, sipping hot chocolate from a white porcelain mug on a ferry bound for Dover and he had just gotten his first glimpse of his enemy: A tall, gangly man with long black hair tied up into a greasy ponytail. He had hoped to be up against a team of highly trained American operatives – highly trained like himself – but that apparently wasn't going to be the case. He supposed it made sense, really. A Team like that would undoubtedly draw attention to the subject. It made Sergei a little nervous if he was being honest. He wasn't used to Americans dealing with matters so intelligently and with such foresight. It just wasn't like them.

You might be wondering, Dear Reader why the head of the KGB would send a 12 year old boy on such a critical mission, even if nepotism _was_ a factor in the decision. Things such as age, race and sex are completely irrelevant. Its _ability_ that really matters, the brains of this world understand that even if those wield all the so called 'political power' do not. Let them revel in their delusional fantasy world where everyone 'knows their place', it just makes them all the more easily manipulated…Despite being at age 12, Sergei Vladimir had over 100 confirmed kills (all whilst operating under other agents, mind you.) _This_ mission, however, was to be his first solo effort. He _couldn't_ fail.

To this end he had bugged in advance the Doctors room in The Royal Hotel in Southend he had booked while he was-

-"Unaccompanied minor." A voice off to his side. Sergei turned to gaze up at a middle aged man wearing a navy blue uniform and life-jacket combo with a little badge on his left breast that identified him as Ferry Security. The man stood tall over the child who sitting casually in the café's booth window seat, looking down his nose at him. Though he _had_ reached puberty rather early for a boy his age, Sergei Vladimir still looked very much like a fresh faced and almost pretty young pre-teen despite his height fast approaching 6"2.

And still growing.

"How might I be of assistance, sir?" He asked as politely as he could in his most convincing English accent he could pull off. His mother had taught him this trick.

Though he had been trying to avoid any animosity, Sergei's display good manners appeared to invoke the opposite emotion desired in the man. "Unaccompanied minor, where is your guardian?" The attendant huffed out.

"I'm afraid my mother is resting in her cabin, sir. She _is_ quite ill you see."

The man crossed his arms. "Well sick or not, she shouldn't let her kid go running about on deck like an animal. You could fall in the English Channel and freeze to death." He muttered under his breath: "God knows you probably would before you _drowned_." He shivered squeezed his arms more tightly around himself.

The cold wasn't really bothering Sergei all that much. England wasn't exactly the Mediterranean but it certainly wasn't as bad a Siberia, which was where he very well end up if he didn't play his cards right.

Sergei chose to chuckle at the mans funny little joke. "I'm just sitting here enjoying a beverage and minding my own business. How is that comparable to 'running about on deck like an animal'?" Sergei thought he was being particularly witty today. The man didn't seem to find it so funny, though.

"Look just get up and come with me back to your room so I can get off and have a smoke break." The man grabbed him by the arm and dragged him up-

-Only to find the young man far taller than he had anticipated. Sergei smiled down at the man, who positively shrank a little before him.

"You were about to escort me back to my guardian?" He reminded the attendant.

"Er, yeah." The man snapped out of this stupor letting go of Sergei's arm as if it suddenly had an electrical charge run through it. "The cabins are this way, c-come along, sonny."

Sergei smiled and nodded and followed the man out of the virtually deserted café onto the deck. He trailed behind the man along the side of the ferry for a minute to make completely sure they were no longer observed an then without warning or hesitation, he kicked the man as hard as he could in the back of his right knee causing him to fall onto both of them with a yelp of surprise and pain. Then, before the man had a chance to stand up, turn around or even know what was happening, Sergei grabbed him by the hair on the right side of his head and slammed skull with full force against the railing on their left that served as the only barrier between the passengers on deck and the icy English Channel.

Sergei didn't check to see if the man was dead. He would be one way or the other after he was finished with him. Not that he wanted to do what he had done to the non-combatant, in all honesty. This man's only crime had been being a bit snippy to a child right before his break; that's no good reason to kill a man. It was unfortunate for him that the child he had crossed just so happened to be an undercover Soviet agent.

After swapping his own civilian attire for the man's uniform and transferring his equipment (as well as the man's own meagre belongings) into his new disguises various pockets, Agent Sergei Vladimir dumped the man's limp and seemingly lifeless form off the edge of the ferry, hoping either the man was already dead or would freeze to death before he regained consciousness. Hyperthermia and drowning were two of the worst ways to go, Sergei thought. And he should know. He had been repeatedly subjected to both by his mother and father as part of his torture resistance training.

He _had_ left the mans driving licence in his underclothes before dumping him, however. If his corpse was recovered and it almost certainly would be given how busy this crossing between Britain and the mainland was, there was no sense in denying any friends and family he may have their closure.

It was the most Humane thing Sergei could have done, given the circumstances.

* * *

Marcus was going over his cover story in his head as he lay on his bed above the coverers in his full business suit. His name was Doctor Luis Sera, formally a cop in Madrid, whose lack of a Spanish accent could be explained away by having assimilated fully into American society. In truth Marcus absolutely sucked at faking accents.

It never ceased to amaze James how few people ever questioned how a humble beat cop from Madrid had ended up in such a diametrically different profession from his origin story and to such an evidentially exemplary degree within the field at that. It was for this reason it was one of his favourite cover stories; it filled Marcus with no end of glee whenever he met someone with a sharp enough mind to question the odd combination.

Three soft raps at the door broke James from his soft chuckling at the foolishness of the common man.

"Who is it?" he asked calmly and not at all in a sudden panic, checking to see if the scalpel he kept hidden in his breast pocket for emergencies was still there. Marcus had specifically requested no intrusions into his affairs within his cabin under any circumstances. Agent Miranda's warning of a Russian spy being sent in to possibly intercept him had made the good doctor rather understandably cautious.

"I am here for room service, sir. Would you kindly allow me to perform my duties?" The stranger on the other side of the door replied in a perfectly pronounced classical English accent. A highly unusual accent to be in possession of in a low income job in the south east of England…

Alarm bells were blaring in Marcus's head. He snatched up his briefcase that was beside him by the bed and moved as hurriedly and as quietly as he could to the window. Whilst he fumbled with the stupid things convoluted locking system, he called out:

"I'm afraid I made it quite clear I didn't want to be disturbed. Didn't your boss inform you of this?"

There was a pause.

"Sir, can I hear you tampering with the window?" The voice replied, now in a very distinctly Russian accent, the sound accompanied by an odd jingling sound at the doors keyhole. "That would be a very grave error on your part, Doctor Marcus."

James had the window open and had already managed to wriggle half way out of the stupidly small thing when the door to his cabin came flying open behind him and the Russian agent ran up and grabbed at his left leg, trying to pull him back into the room. There was no time to think, only to act. If the agent successfully dragged him back into the room he would undoubtedly force him down and snap Marcus's neck and then steal his identity. This wouldn't do at all, as James was particularly fond of both his neck and his identity and didn't particularly fancy getting either ruined. To that end, he kicked back at the struggling Russian agent with his right leg as hard as he could.

As luck would have it, his blow struck the man square in the face forcing him back with an almighty yell and smashing back into the small chair and table opposite the window. Marcus was particularly proud of the fact that as he struck he heard a very clear and distinct _crack_, what must have been his assailants' nose rather than his neck, as dead mean don't tend to cry out in pain. Yes Dear Reader, he was very pleased with himself indeed to have caused the enemy such discomfort.

Marcus got up from the floor he had fallen onto during his counterattack, dusted himself off and then took out his scalpel from his breast pocket. He was going to sick that little shit right in the carotid with this thing and watch the man bleed out with no small sense of accomplishment about the whole thing.

Only that's not what happened at all.

When Marcus span around to enact his plan, he stopped dead. He froze not just physically but emotionally, too. His heart filled with surprise and then icy terror over what his attacker appeared to be.

Lying unconscious with a broken, bleeding nose in a pile of broken wood that had once been furniture was a young boy, a boy who couldn't have been older than 16 by the renowned paediatricians educated guess, perhaps even younger. But what really horrified him was the child's hair.

It was as white as snow

_**Just like Umbrella Agent Miranda Miriam's. **_

A slow smile spread across Marcus's features as all at once, he understood what this all really meant.

Agent Miriam had conceived a child with someone high up in the command structure of the Soviet Union in order to create an illusion of loyalty to their cause, possibly even with the head of the KGB himself and had trained up the fruits of her labours as her eyes and ears in the West.

And _that_ must mean that this boy had been the one that delivered that Russian postcard to his mailbox, the one with no postmarks, dutifully following orders just like a good little soldier should.

Marcus laughed and shook his head at the brilliantness behind Agent Miriam's little game. _That's_ why she hadn't reported in in roughly 12 years. She had been working on the long con.

Still, con or not, the boy that lay broken before him was _still_ his little sisters' son. (That's right, Dear Reader. I didn't mistype.) He couldn't just plunge the knife in. It would make any future family reunions a rather awkward affair.

Besides, she's be down a field agent she'd invested a lot of time and effort in creating and to deprive his sister of her greatest weapon would be a bit of a dick move on his part.

So instead of killing the incompetent little sprog, Marcus removed the boys' belt and socks, binding his hands to the bed with the belt and using the socks to make an impromptu and highly smelly ball gag.

After attending to the unconscious boys' broken nose as best he could with his limited medical resources, Marcus left the cabin briefcase in hand and locked the door behind him. He didn't want some perv wandering in on the scene and taking advantage of his helpless abandoned nephew, after all.

Still, James wanted the boy to know that he didn't want him to be dead either and so he slipped the key under the door to show him this fact. The boy had demonstrated the ability to pick locks in record time so he didn't really need the key once he had broken free from his bonds so James hoped that his nephew was smart enough to realize his attempted assassination target knew that and would recognise the gesture of kindness he was giving him.

His only real grievance with this situation was that he was going to have to go on ahead without learning his nephews' name, though he suspected he'd be learning it soon at any rate.

The boy certainly hadn't been stopped in his mission, but he _had_ been slowed down. His continued interference with the matter at hand was something Marcus had to take into account for the rest of the mission. Marcus pondered this as he bought an overpriced carton of juice from a vending machine back in that old cafeteria he was in earlier. This certainly would complicate the scenario but he chose to view it as a fun little side-mission in this game rather than an inconvenience his sister had set upon him in order to maintain her cover as a double-agent.

Marcus placed the branded carton of blackberry juice into his coat pocket as he disembarked the ferry and sought out a taxi, whistling a merry little tune to himself.

It was time to go and find this new potential Project Wesker subject

* * *

**Authors note:** Did you have fun trying to keep all that convoluted bullshit straight, guys? I bet Tom Clancy is bustin' a nut right up there in Heaven.

**Just to clear up some potential points:**

Again, not sure if private jet technology was widely available at the time but that doesn't technically mean that it wasn't available at all.

Was I the only person who though Luis Sera's story a little off in Resident Evil 4? I mean, he's genius enough to be working on the resurrection and bioweapons development process of the Plaga all by himself but he claims he was just a cop in Madrid? That didn't wash with me. And if he's lying about _what_ he was, then why not lie about _who_ he was?

I mean, someone with his abilities must be sought after by all sorts of nasty people and Wesker choosing to give him an Umbrella stock cover identity to protect him from the world makes perfect sense to me.

And as for Sergei and his mother, James Marcus's sister Miranda Miriam (formerly Miranda Marcus, obviously) was that not a total mind-fuck of a twist there? I hope so, cos that was entirely what I was going for. Incidentally I shan't explain the age thing in regards to Sergei, as I believe I've already done that in the narrative and I shan't repeat myself.

Read and Review if you liked it, I thrive on my readers approval, after all.


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